Mader’s persona is the court jester in our kingdom of privilege. He is washed-up and ridiculous, standing in the shadows accompanying his verses with his washtub bass, the constant tremolo in his voice and the wacky images in his poems.
Somewhere under the rain in East Vancouver, Al Mader is setting up his washtub bass. He is thumping out oracles, they are vaguely funny but mostly they are inexpressibly sad. The message seeps through our indifference. It lodges and percolates.
Like all the great jesters who live in the courts of mad kings… Mader is trying to save some lives. His own for sure, but also our own. He’s trying to distract the great and privileged and in a moment of inattention maybe a few of the underlings can flee to safety. Though it is unclear where flight may take them, they’ll live to fight (or flee) another day.